


Lovers and madmen have such seething brains

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Bargaining, Hannibal doesn't lie, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Walks In The Woods, but that doesn't mean he's telling the truth, does it still count as cannibalism if you're a fae eating humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 08:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Will could never pinpoint the moment when the Gentleman appeared. The Gentleman always filtered in like fog, impossible to detect as it was rising, until suddenly the air was clouded over with white.The next time Will glanced to his left, the Gentleman was there. He wore a suit, as always, with dark leather shoes that stayed pristine no matter how muddy the ground was. The tie knotted high around his throat, emerald silk embroidered with a twining pattern that seemed to shift and twist as Will’s eyes moved over at it, was the brightest spot of color in the forest. He didn’t wear a coat. December in Virginia wasn’t nearly cold enough to trouble one of the winter fae.





	Lovers and madmen have such seething brains

**Author's Note:**

> The only actual violence is off screen, but injuries are described, and a dog is hurt (but will recover fine). Because, you know. Randall Tier happens.

Will could never pinpoint the moment when the Gentleman appeared. The Gentleman always filtered in like fog, impossible to detect as it was rising, until suddenly the air was clouded over with white.

The next time Will glanced to his left, the Gentleman was there. He wore a suit, as always, with dark leather shoes that stayed pristine no matter how muddy the ground was. The tie knotted high around his throat, emerald silk embroidered with a twining pattern that seemed to shift and twist as Will’s eyes moved over at it, was the brightest spot of color in the forest. He didn’t wear a coat. December in Virginia wasn’t nearly cold enough to trouble one of the winter fae.

“A fine afternoon,” the Gentleman remarked.

It wasn’t his name, of course, but it was what Will’s neighbors had called him, when they warned Will about the fae lord that considered these woods part of his domain. “Be careful,” they had said. “Be polite. You don’t want the Gentleman to take offense.” They hadn’t provided details about the consequences, and Will hadn’t asked. His imagination had plenty of grisly material to work with already.

“We’re having a dry winter,” Will said.

“Very. I generally find morels growing there,” the Gentleman said, pointing at the base of a cluster of trees. The deep shade had kept the soil damp enough for a cushion of moss to grow. “This year has had very lean pickings. I am fortunate that nobody else seeks them out, or I would have had to ration my own supply.”

There was an art to conversing with the fae, when commonplace words like “I’m sorry” or “thank you” implied a debt that could be called upon. Conversation was often slow and noncommittal. Will hadn’t been surprised to find it suited him. Over the two years he’d lived in Wolf Trap, the Gentleman had gone from a figure glimpsed from afar to a regular walking companion.

It should have made him want to move. It was undeniably dangerous. Sometimes, sitting at his desk in his Academy office, he could persuade himself it was time to move on, that he would be better off someplace else. His resolution would weaken during the drive back to Wolf Trap, and evaporate entirely as soon as Will stepped into the woods. This was his home, for better or for worse.

“I’ll be sure not to invite any mushroom hunters over.” It was a polite fiction that Will owned the woods. In the eyes of the law of Virginia, he did, but that pretense never lasted long when he was in the Gentleman’s company. The Gentleman’s path through the forest was absolutely assured, his knowledge of its flora and fauna encyclopedic. Will didn’t know how long the Gentleman had been here, but he predated Will by at least three generations, and that kind of legacy had its own authority. Fortunately the Gentleman didn’t seem to mind Will and his animals making use of the woods.

"I would be greatly surprised if you did,” the Gentleman said. “I've never seen you walking with anyone but your dogs."

"I'm not very sociable."

"Perhaps you've been lacking the right company."

Will smiled down at the dogs romping around his shoes. "We do okay. Don't we, Winston?"

At his name, Winston looked up and wagged his tail, and Will ruffled the curly fur behind his ears. The dogs had been wary of the Gentleman at first, but when he continued to do nothing more sinister or interesting than walk a few feet away from Will, they’d become accustomed to his presence, although they still avoided getting too close. Will probably should have taken their behavior as an example.

The Gentleman raised his head to look at the sky, the column of his throat strong and graceful. "I, too, find that solitude appeals."

Curiosity could be a trap, but Will couldn't help himself. "I'm far from an expert, but stories say the fae are as inclined to company as humans are."

"And yet you yourself prefer to walk alone. Perhaps we are both exceptional."

Will found the Gentleman harder to read than anyone he had ever encountered. New Orleans drew in fae from the Summer Court in record numbers, and it hadn't been unusual to pass one on the sidewalk, or even exchange words while waiting in a cafe line; long-time residents had adapted, although they were a perpetual hazard to unwary tourists. All of the fae he had come into contact with before the abrupt end to his time on the force had been more transparent in their desires than the fae walking at his left now.

He glanced up, intending a fleeting look that would tell him more than the Gentleman's dispassionate tone of voice had, and found his gaze caught and held by maroon eyes. Will had to blink before he could look away. "You would put me in rarefied company."

"I would," the Gentleman said, perfectly mildly, "if I thought you would allow it. As it stands, you seem to prefer the company of your dogs."

A thrill of alarm sounded. If the Gentleman considered Will's pets to be competition for his attention, would he be moved to act against them? It would be the height of rudeness to imply openly that he would. Will took refuge in unobjectionable truth. "My dogs are important to me."

"You have trained them very well. They do you credit. Not many men have the patience to tame other creatures."

"I find it rewarding."

"The taming, or the company which results?"

Will’s breath caught. The Gentleman swung to face him directly, showing no signs of regret at asking a direct question. It was as good as giving Will a credit chip, to cash in at a time of Will’s choosing, to ask him something in return. He owed honesty as his answer. "Both."

The Gentleman smiled, the buttons on his suit gleaming cool white in the weak afternoon sun. Some kind of bone; probably not ivory. "I feel the same way."

 _I’m not a creature_ , Will thought of saying, but of course that would be a lie. Humans were creatures like any others, and the fae had more reason than most to see them as a lesser species. It shouldn’t have bothered Will to be compared to his dogs.

Will kept his pace steady, but found himself eyeing the trees away from the Gentleman, hiding his face and the turmoil of his thoughts.

But not hiding them very well, apparently, for the Gentleman spoke soon after. “I fear I’ve caused offense.”

Will wet his lips and thought carefully. “Given the gulf between us, differences in perspective are only to be expected.”

“I do not find you lesser. Only, perhaps, similarly wary. Unused to companionship.”

“Unfit for company,” Will said, unable to conceal his bitterness.

“Never that,” the Gentleman was quick to contradict. “I enjoy your company very much, Mr. Graham. Far more than the company of my own kind.”

No fae would lie so plainly. Will’s shoulders loosened, and all at once he felt foolish for becoming upset in the first place. “I’m afraid I’m poor company today,” he said ruefully. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“You are often troubled by bad dreams. Your nightmares seem to be growing stronger.”

 _How the hell did you know that?_ Not worth asking, especially when Will wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer. “They have a lot to feed on. I spend a lot of time thinking about not-so-tasty things.”

“Assuming the perspective of killers.”

Will’s head came up sharply.

The Gentleman just smiled at him, unruffled as ever. “Even the fae can read a newspaper,” he reminded Will gently. “There is a tabloid that relates your work with the FBI most regularly.”

Will groaned. “If you’re talking about TattleCrime, I should warn you, that reporter has it out for me.”

“Freddie Lounds.”

It wasn’t a question, but Will nodded anyway. “She thinks I’m one crime scene from snapping and going on a killing spree. That, or I snapped a while ago and the FBI just hasn’t caught on yet. I’m not sure which. Her prevailing theory changes based on whatever she thinks will make a better headline.”

“The editorial details are rather colorful. Still, there is enough truth to gather a basic impression of your work. It must be quite draining to step into the heads of so many murderers.”

Will shrugged. “Murderers aren’t that different from other people. Their heads are like any other head. They feel grief or rage or loss. It’s what they do about it that--” Will cut off, Hobbs’ voice in his ears, his solution laid out in blood on the kitchen floor. _See?_

“Haunts your dreams,” the Gentleman supplied.

“That’s a rather melodramatic way to put it.”

“It is merely the truth.”

Will dipped his head, conceding. “You would know.”

"I would," the Gentleman agreed. "I find nothing objectionable about your company, Will, no matter what thoughts fill your head."

Will had to turn around to hide his sudden swallow. He picked up a flat stone, considering skimming it across the river at the trail's end. Sometimes he could skip a rock all the way to the water's opposite edge.

They walked without speaking for a while. Will was mulling over the revelation that the Gentleman knew of his work. They had never talked about what Will did for a living before; one of the many refreshing aspects of fae conversation was their utter disinterest in most human occupations. The Gentleman didn’t seem disturbed (or worse yet, excited) by it, which was a better response than Will got from most humans.

When Will next looked up, the air was clear of fog, and the Gentleman was gone.

 

"Will."

The ravenstag circled him. Will couldn't see it, not when the night was so endlessly dark, but he could hear its hooves sink into soft drifts of leaves around him, could smell the sour rankness of its breath. Will held still at the center of its prowling circuit, barely daring to breathe.

"Will. I believe you are dreaming."

He reached towards the antlers he knew must be close, mere inches from his face. There was a sudden sting in his fingertip, and then--

Will opened his eyes. He was standing in the woods. Winston and the other dogs were whining and prancing around his feet. The Gentleman stood in front of him, watching him calmly. The dogs left him a clear three feet of space, but Will was so close he could have touched him just by lifting a hand.

"You appeared to be asleep," the Gentleman said. “I trust you are awake now.”

"I..." Will's awareness of his body expanded in dribs and drabs; he felt the sweat cooling rapidly under his arms, the raw tenderness of the soles of his bare feet. "I think I was sleepwalking. I hope I haven't intruded," he added, belatedly minding his manners.

"You haven't," the Gentleman assured him. "I consider myself fortunate to have encountered you this evening. You could have easily done yourself an injury, and you are enchanting when you dream."

Will gave a self-conscious laugh and spread his arms mockingly, all his derision aimed at his own sweat-soaked shorts and singlet. "This isn't what I'd consider my best look."

"There are more senses than sight, Will." The Gentleman half-closed his eyes and inhaled, dipping his head just a bit closer to Will's neck. Will was distantly surprised when he didn't flinch back from the intrusion into his space. "Like this, on the cusp of wakefulness, you smell divine."

Hopefully it was too dark for even a fae to see the flush Will knew was staining his cheeks. Time to retreat, if he could find his way back in the dark. “I’m not sure how far my sleepwalking took me.”

“Not far. You are perhaps two hundred paces from your front door.” The Gentleman nodded over Will’s shoulder. Will turned and was surprised to see yellow filtering through the black-barked trees. His porch light, left on earlier or turned on in his sleep.

“I would have thought longer. Last time, I made it all the way to the road.”

“Ah, but this time you wandered into my woods.” The Gentleman still hadn’t stepped back. He was close enough that Will normally would have turned away to minimize the risk of making eye contact. Instead Will looked at the oval shadow of The Gentleman’s face, the fae's eyes only showing as a wet shine in the dark. “You needn’t fear, Will. I wouldn’t let you be lost for long.”

Later, by the light of his own kitchen, Will saw a spot of red on the pad of his finger. He pressed his thumb against it and thought of the pinprick sharpness of touching the ravenstag's antlers in his dream. He had taken it for a phantom sensation, just another bundle of misfiring nerves in a body full of them. Now, feeling that same sharp sting as his thumb pushed down, he wasn't so sure.

Driven by an impulse he didn’t dare to examine too closely, he put the injured finger in his mouth, sucking it clean. For a moment, with the tang of his own blood on his tongue, he thought he heard hoofbeats outside.

He was careful not to glance at the windows on his way to bed.

 

Will's home had been built more than a hundred years before, and came with the traditional iron horseshoe above both front and back doors. Will had considered upgrading these modest, homespun protections once he'd unwittingly drawn the interest of a member of the fae, but ultimately decided against it. If the Gentleman really was a threat to him, he would find another way to get to Will, and if he wasn't, it would be very rude indeed to be seen taking measures against him. Their relationship was cordial, at least on the surface, and Will didn’t want to disturb that balance.

Not just for fear of his own safety, Will finally admitted to himself after the Gentleman guided him home after his walking nightmare, but because if he caused the Gentleman offense, he might stop appearing. Will would miss that companionship, those long summer days spent walking through the cool woods with a companion at his side, one with a mind like a cool anvil that could draw the bruised heat from his own just by proximity.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it that winter. Jack kept him busy, sending him out to the most chaotic crime scenes the BSU encountered. Will could still go home once the cases were over, back to his own fragile oasis among the trees, but he trailed ghosts behind him. They visited him in his dreams, only dispersing when the sound of the ravenstag's hooves drove them away.

Will didn’t sleepwalk outside again, but he woke up more than once with the phantom texture of feathers on his skin.

 

Later, Will wondered if he’d planned it. Once Randall Tier was a corpse cooling on the ground, leaving Will with his belly torn open and his dogs baying all around him, Buster bloodied but out of danger, the sensible thing would have been to go inside and find his phone. He could have called for an ambulance. Odds were good it would have gotten there too late, but it had been an option. He’d had a choice.

Will didn’t go inside. He held his forearms pressed tight to the wreck of his middle and lurched along the path his feet knew best. He walked as far as he could before collapsing against a stump, his legs too weak to hold him. It wasn’t a surprise when the Gentleman appeared in front of him. These were his woods, and blood on oak was a very old rite.

"Will," the Gentleman said, calm as ever but with a new intensity, unless it was only the adrenaline that made the Gentleman’s movements seem faster than usual, the shadows deep and vast behind him. He knelt in front of Will. Will wondered whether the knees of his trousers would get damp, or if the ground wouldn’t dare soil the Gentleman’s suit. "These are mortal wounds. I don’t suppose you've called for help. Agent Crawford, or a hospital.”

Will shook his head slowly. This wasn’t how he had expected to die, but it was fitting, he supposed, that one of the killers he hunted had finally found him first.

The Gentleman put a hand on Will’s abdomen, not pressing to staunch the bleeding, just resting cool fingertips over the hot sticky mess below Will’s torn shirt. It was the first time the Gentleman had ever touched him. “I would like very much to heal you."

Will’s sense of caution blared; there were far worse things than death. He blinked hard, trying to focus. The Gentleman’s eyes were hungry.

How had Randall Tier known how to find him?

The distant howling of his dogs registered, and Will’s thoughts were derailed by a stab of panic. If he died, the dogs would be left alone. How many missed calls would it take for Jack to send someone out to Wolf Trap to drag Will out in person? Too many, and too much time. The dogs would eat his body; it would be instinct. Nobody would want them after that. They would be put down, unless Alana took them in.

Will didn’t want to die. He wanted to stay here in his house by the Gentleman’s woods, where he and his dogs were welcome to roam.

The Gentleman waited, patient as a coiled cobra.

Will was still owed a question. "What is your name?"

He had thought the Gentleman might take offense, but instead he received a smile. "My name, sweet William, is Hannibal Lecter."

Will could feel the truth of it, the _power_ of it, down to his bones. He shuddered with knowing. The epiphany came without fanfare, as simply and plainly true as the fact of Hannibal’s name. “You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Yes.”

“The ones you kill.” Will ran his tongue over his teeth, dimly surprised at the taste of blood--Randall must have broken his nose. “They’re rude. Pigs. Not worth sharing the same air. That’s all they are to you. But that’s not all I am, or you wouldn’t.” Will had to stop and cough something wet out of his airway. Not a broken nose after all, then, if he was hacking up blood. “You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have offered.”

“Yes. Will, if I am to heal you, I must do it quickly. Resurrection is not within my power.”

If Will agreed, he would owe Hannibal his life. Hannibal had already told him his true name. What was the debt of one more question compared to that? “What do you want with me?”

“I want to keep you.” Hannibal’s hand moved to Will’s cheek. Will couldn’t see it. Gray spots were spreading thickly across his field of vision, blotting out everything but the red corona around Hannibal’s eyes. “Will. Please.”

“Yes,” Will said, and knew nothing more.

 

Will woke in his own bed, a dog’s rough tongue lapping his face.

“G’off,” he mumbled. He reached up to push the dog away and felt tight-coiled fur. Winston. “‘M sleeping, Winston, go on.”

A sharp whistle had Winston hopping down immediately. Will opened his eyes.

Hannibal was standing in the doorframe, looking down at him. He held a tray with a steaming bowl. “Good morning, Will.”

Will swallowed hard, the previous day’s events returning in a rush of cold clarity like breaking through the ice on a frozen lake. “Good morning, Hannibal.”

Hannibal half-closed his eyes, like hearing his name on Will’s lips was a transcendent experience. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Will said honestly. The pain in his stomach was dull, not sharp; nothing at all like it should have been, for having been gutted the night before.

Hannibal set the tray on Will’s lap. “This will help. Wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise. It's an old recipe.”

Most of Will’s instincts were telling him to run. As though running would do any good, now. A different part of him wanted to kiss the back of Hannibal’s hand. He lifted the spoon next to the bowl instead of doing either. “Thank you.”

He knew exactly what else was in the soup. Randall Tier had been dead but not buried, and Hannibal wouldn’t have wasted the fresh meat.

The second bite was easier than the first, and the third easier still. Will waited for horror that didn’t come. The soup was delicious and he was hungry. Hannibal watched him eat, his eyes tracking every swallow, following the spoon from the bowl to where it vanished behind Will’s lips. It should have made him self-conscious, but he was glad of the chance to study Hannibal while his focus was diverted.

Before they could even talk, children learned not to ask the fae questions, but Will was past worrying about it. He was already bound to Hannibal, and Hannibal to him.

“Why did you heal me?” Will asked quietly, once most of the soup was gone. The bowl was just as hot as it had been when he picked it up. The warmth of what he’d swallowed lingered in his stomach, glowing like a coal dropped onto dry tinder.

Hannibal tipped his head forward. “Ask your next question first.”

Will brought the bowl to his lips, tilted it, and drank the last drops. The ache in his middle was gone. “Why did you send Randall Tier after me?”

“The answer to both questions is the same. I have been waiting for someone like you for a very long time.”

It wouldn’t do any good to be angry. Every child was warned away from straying too deep into the woods; ignoring warnings came with consequences. When Hannibal reached for the tray, Will took his hand instead, and gripped it tightly enough to surprise them both.

“Where’s the rest of him?”

“In the woodshed.” Hannibal left it at that, quiet while he waited for Will’s response.

Will swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His wound was entirely healed, and he felt better than he could ever remember, well rested and full of easy warmth. “We’ll need to move him soon, or the dogs will get into the meat.”

Hannibal smiled at him then, and let Will lead him by the hand into the golden light of morning.


End file.
